Lessons in Pride and Care
by Aemilia Rose
Summary: After the failed attempt to bring back his mother, Ed must find the strength to come to terms with himself, his pride, his fears, and his failures in order to heal. Will he accept help from those who care for him? Collection of OneShots
1. Numb

**A/N: Hey everyone! Long time no see! It's been a while since I posted anything here, so cut me some slack if I take a while to remember how to do all this. I've never been very technologically competent to begin with.**

**(Those of you who are -STILL- keeping up with my other story, To Melt a Heart of Ice... worry not. So help me God it will be finished one day)**

**Yes, this story will be more than one chapter. No, it will not have much of a continuous storyplot. It's more of a collection of short stories to help me practice writing in the FMA fandom, so one day I can post something real. I do, however, appreciate your feedback. Tell meif I'm going wrong, so that I can learn! Thank you for reading!**

**Spoilers - No. The timeline of these little fics is restricted to theduration Ed spends recovering at the Rockbell's after the failed transmutation.**

**Pairings - Since the characters are so young in this fic, no. You can, however, interpret some things as blossoming puppy love if you so choose.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own FMA.**

**This collection of ficlets is dedicated to two people: MottoVeilopVIII, for introducing me to this lovely fandom, and CaptainKase, for being so kind in writing a drabble for me.**

* * *

The small whimper was enough to wake Winry.

It was soft – more like a breathy moan than anything else. It shouldn't have been loud enough to stir Winry's mind back from the realm of sleep, but she had been so accustomed to nothing but complete silence radiating from the room that even that slightest sound…

Her heart caught in her throat. In a haste half born from worry and half from barely contained hope, she rolled out of bed and slid her feet into her slippers. Looking out the window, she judged that it was still roughly about… the middle of the night. Should she wake her Grandmother?

* * *

The first time Ed had awoken, Winry hadn't noticed that he had stirred until long after he had regained consciousness. When she had looked over and seen that his eyes were open, a grin had broken out across her face.

"Ed!" she'd exclaimed excitedly, "Finally, you're up! You sleepyhead! I was wondering how long you were going to…"

She had trailed off at the look in his gaze. His eyes had been dull and glazed over. To make matters worse, he wouldn't speak a word either. He had simply lain there in a near catatonic state, his golden eyes staring off into a distance that only he could see, until the dark oblivion of sleep reclaimed him.

Winry had started off blaming it on the painkillers. After all, he had been loaded with them. She couldn't help but cringe every time she watched her Grandmother change his bandages, wrapping the ragged, bloodied stumps in fresh, clean white cloth. It _had_ to hurt. Winry was sure that it did, despite the fact that Ed's face, though covered in a light shimmer of feverish sweat, did not reveal any signs that he felt anything at all.

When his fever abated and his wounds started to heal, Granny Pinako began the process of weaning him gradually off the strongest of the painkillers. Each time the doses given were less and less.

But nothing changed.

He had slept most of the time. On those few occasions that unconsciousness relinquished its hold on him, it never seemed like he fully awakened. His eyes never lost that distant stare, even when Winry would foolishly wave her arms in front of his face desperate for a response.

They could not get him to eat solid food. However, they _could_ coax a little bit of broth into him – sometimes. At her Grandmother's direction, Winry would slide her arm under his left shoulder and gently lift him up. He would sag limply against her like dead weight, while Pinako fed him tiny spoonfuls of broth. Usually, this only lasted a few minutes before Ed would stop swallowing, the last few spoonfuls of broth dribbling from his slack lips. Then, Winry would wipe his mouth and lay him back down on the bed, watching as he fell back asleep. His expression never changed throughout the entire ordeal.

"Granny," Winry had asked one day, while she and her Grandmother brought the bowl of broth back to kitchen, "What's wrong with Ed?"

Pinako looked up after placing the bowl in the sink. "Besides missing two of his limbs?"

Winry blushed. "Well, yeah. Something's not right. He should have recovered more by now."

"His wounds are healing quickly."

Shaking her head, Winry replied, "No, it's not that. It's something else."

Pinako didn't answer.

"You've noticed it, haven't you?" continued Winry, "That glazed look in his eye… it's almost like… he's not all there."

Winry had winced even as she spoke the words. There could be so much more wrong with Edward than met the eye! She remembered what her Grandmother had spoken to Al about. '_You were trying to bring back your mother, weren't you!' _She remembered when the military man – Lt. Col. M… Mus something… Mustang, that was his name – had walked right into their house, and what he had said. The words rang like iron anvils through her skull.

Human Transmutation 

Winry had looked through the kitchen doorway, her gaze locking at the closed door down the hallway. Edward… what exactly had happened that night? What had Ed gone through? What had he seen? What led to Al, in a metal suit instead of a body, carrying his bleeding, dying brother to her house for help?

"Sometimes," Pinako said, shocking Winry out of her reverie, " when somebody suffers a large shock to their system, it takes them a while to accept it."

Winry shivered. "What do you mean?"

Sighing, Pinako had explained, "Edward probably just needs time for both his mind and body to register that what happened that night _actually happened_. He'll snap out of it eventually."

* * *

Winry tip-toed up to the door. At a gentle push, it creaked and swung open.

For a moment, Winry just stared into the dark room. When she didn't hear anything, she began to be frustrated with herself. She had probably just been imagining things. There was no reason for her to be wandering around the house in her pajamas in the middle of the night. It had been a fluke - a sigh of the wind that her sleep-fogged mind had transformed into something else. It was nothing. She was about to turn around to go back to bed when she heard it.

There! 

She flipped on the light switch, flooding the room with a bright glow. Over on the bed against the wall in a muddle of bed sheets, lay Edward Elric. His body was tense, trying to hold itself rigid against the small shivers that shockwaved through his entire form. Tangled strands of golden hair were plastered to his sweaty brow, and his eyes were squinched shut. And then there was what had woken Winry. For the first time since before he lost his limbs, Edward was not silent. His breath was coming ragged through clenched teeth. Every few a moments, an exhale was painfully expelled in the form of a gasped moan.

Winry rushed to his side, grasping his left hand and feeling his forehead. No fever. His skin felt cold and clammy.

What was _happening_? Winry felt a panic begin to take hold of her. What was wrong with Ed? In the entire time he had been recovering at her house, he had never so much as twitched an eyelash. Now all of the sudden _this_? Winry started to stand up, ready to run and fetch her Grandmother, but she halted as she felt Ed's hand tighten on her wrist.

"Win-ry…"

Her eyes widened in shock. "Ed?" She knelt back down by the bed. His eyes were open – not only were they open, but they were _clear_. They were clear, and looking at her pleadingly.

"Ed!" She begged him, "What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong so I can help you!"

"It h-hurts," he choked.

Reflexively, she began to check his bandages to see if they had begun bleeding again. They didn't seem to be. "What hurts? Tell me what hurts, Ed." When he did not answer, she leaned over and took his face in her hands. "Ed! Talk to me! Tell me what hurts!"

He shuddered. "My- m-my arm…"

Winry blinked. "What?"

"My arm…" He looked over at the empty space on his right side.

"Ed," Winry soothed him. If she could just calm him down enough, she could feel comfortable leaving him for the few moments it would take to run and get Pinako. "It's just a feeling of phantom limb. It's not real, Ed. Your arm is gone."

"B-but…" Ed let out a strangled groan, "Oh God, it h-hurts…"

Winry felt tears come to her eyes. She was so frightened. Suddenly, she felt so young and so inexperienced. Her parents had been surgeons and her Grandmother an automail engineer; despite her age, she knew quite a bit about caring for the injured and ill. But right now…

She gently tried to pry Ed's left hand from her wrist, but with every attempt he only tightened his grip. When she felt her bones grind together under the pressure, she gave up. "Ed," she pleaded, "Let me go!"

He did not seem to hear her. A haze had settled across his eyes again, but instead of falling back into that frozen state of shock, he continued to mumble nonsense under his breath. Though he was looking right at her, Winry knew that he was no longer aware of where he was.

"No… no… n-no… no…" he muttered ceaselessly, tossing and turning. Winry tried to calm him down, but to no avail. Then, he mumbled something that made Winry's stomach twist.

"M-mom…"

Suddenly, there was the sound of clanging metal. Winry turned around to see Al standing at the door. He hurried forward, his feet clanking against the floorboards.

"Brother!"

At the sound of the hollow, echoing voice, the grip on Winry's wrist was released. She stood shakily, backing away to make room for Al, who took her place by Ed's side. He seemed to be hesitant to touch his brother, as if he were worried that the cold metal would be more of a shock than a comfort. At long last, he softly laid a hand on Ed's left shoulder, the bed sheet shielding the vulnerable skin from the metal.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," Winry whispered, rubbing her wrist. "It's like he's delirious, but there's no fever."

"Brother," Al said, "Can you hear me?"

Edward leaned in towards his brother's voice. "Al?"

"That's right." Al's relief was palpable.

Winry took a step forward. "Is he – "

"Winry."

She jumped at her Grandmother's voice. Pinako stood framed by the door.

"Granny!" Winry let out a breath. "Thank goodness you're here! Something's wrong with – "

"Come on, Winry." Pinako gestured for her granddaughter to follow her. "You should get back to bed."

"But Ed - "

"He's fine." She looked over at the injured boy. He was already calming down. Al was murmuring something to him, but neither Pinako nor Winry could make out what he was saying.

Winry blinked worriedly. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." Pinako led Winry out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. When Winry turned a confused glance to her, Pinako only said, "We help Ed when he is hurt physically. Tonight, he needs his brother."

* * *

The next morning, when Winry peeked into the room, she couldn't believe what she saw.

Al was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a couple blankets arranged on his lap to form a crude bed. Edward lay snuggled inside, his head cushioned by a pillow nestled in the crook of Al's elbow. Although he was pale and there were dark shadows under his eyes, his features were calm. He was breathing so softly, Winry could not help but assume that he was asleep.

Noticing her presence, Al looked up. "Good morning, Winry!" He said so cheerfully that Winry could half-imagine a smile plastered across the armor helmet. Turning back to the bundle in his arms, Al gave Ed a small nudge. "Look brother. Winry's come to check on you."

Ed's golden eyes opened wearily. After blinking a few times, he focused on the girl standing hesitantly in front of him. He managed a small tired smile, "Hi, Winry." As he registered the fact that he was being cradled by his younger brother - in front of _Winry_, no less - a faint blush colored his cheeks. He suddenly found the floor and the ceiling and pretty much everything but Winry's face much more interesting to look at.

The sight warmed Winry's heart more than anything else. If Edward had the energy to give in to embarrassment, then he was most certainly feeling _much_ better.

As Al noticed his brother's discomfort, he shifted uncertainly. "Um… Winry," he said, "You think you can bring up some breakfast?"

"Of course!" Winry breathed, smiling at the scene before her, still unsure if it were really happening. She backed away and stepped softly out of the room. As soon as the door closed, she set off down the hallway, eager to tell her Grandmother the good news.


	2. Helplessness

Hello everyone! I'm back (and sooner than usual, I might add). I'm trying to keep ahead of my stories this time, so that I don't fall behind and lose focus. Write write write edit post write write write edit post.

Forgive me if this chapter has some typos. I didn't get as many editors this time as last time, and even though I read it over several times to check for mistakes, I might have missed one. Sorry!

**CaptainKase:** My goodness! It's so very humbling to have my first FMA fanfiction received so well! I'm glad that you liked my ficlet! hugs And yes, I agree that this is one of the best timeframes. So much angst! Loverly stuff. I hope you like this chapter as well. Unfortunately, it does not have much Brotherly Al, but hopefully chapter 4 (which I am working on now) will have plenty to make up for it.

**please-knock**: Thank you so much for the review and kind comments! It means a lot to me!

Anyhoo, without further ado, I present:

**Helplessness **

She took a moment's notice away from the tangle of wires splayed out on the table before her and looked out the window. It was a bright day, the sun still clean and clear in its morning phase. It was fairly warm, despite a small breeze. The wind chill wouldn't be too much for him, would it?

Winry let out a groan of frustration at herself and turned back to the wires. _Blue wire twisted under yellow wire hooked into this loop here…_She was too nervous. Everything would be fine. She had nothing to worry about. However, no matter hard she tried, she couldn't keep her eyes away from the two figures sitting beneath the tree on the hill framed by the window.

It was the first time Ed had been outside in… well… a long time. This morning, he had practically begged Winry, Al, and Pinako to let him leave the house, if just for a little while. He'd barely left that stale old room at all the whole time he'd been at the Rockbells, though he constantly whined about the inside air being so coarse and stuffy. Al had teased him, reminding him that there had been many times in the past when Ed would stay inside for hours, endlessly reading as many books as he could on his own free will and without complaint. Surely staying indoors couldn't be _so_ bad.

_But_, Ed had insisted, _it's different when it's not _my_ choice._

So, finally, they relented. Winry wasn't sure whether her Grandmother was really comfortable enough with his recovery to allow it (Winry sure wasn't), or whether she was just sick of his stubborn persistence.

Even still, that stubborn boy had to suffer some indignities. Winry packed Al full of thick blankets to carry with him, claiming that they couldn't afford Ed to catch a chill. When Ed reminded her that the sun was warmly shining, she only glowered at him. The only thing that had saved him from a wrench to the head was the fact that such a scuffle would have angered Pinako. She had been applying fresh bandages, and would not have been pleased at all at an interruption from her work. No matter how much Ed deserved a quick whack right then, Winry knew better than to get in her Grandmother's way.

When all of that was finished, there came the task of physically getting him outdoors. Winry suspected that Ed himself hadn't even thought that far. There was no way he could have been able to walk outside on his own, even if he _had _both of his legs. He was still too weak, between the lingering effects of massive blood loss and the fact that he hadn't started eating solid foods again yet (though he was well on his way to convincing Pinako to let him give it a go this afternoon). Despite being absolutely mortified at the thought of being so helpless, he had consented to allowing himself to be carried outside by Al, on one condition: that Pinako and Winry stay inside and pretend not to notice.

Ha. Right.

Winry peeked outside again. They were still sitting under the tree, their figures cutting harsh silhouettes against the slanted morning glow. Winry couldn't tell if Ed was asleep or not, though she suspected he was (Of course, if she asked him later, he would never admit that the excursion wore him out). Al was sitting beside him, the armor glinting in the sunlight. He stayed within arm's reach, ready to catch his brother if he fell sideways or carry him back inside if he got cold.

"Winry."

She jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Pinako was glancing over, her pipe drooping loosely out of her mouth.

"Pay attention to what you're doing. You hooked the wrong wires together again."

Winry looked down. Sure enough, instead of curling together in graceful curves with the rest of the wires in the bundle on the left, several of the wires were twisted over and entangled with those in the bundle on the right. A silly mistake – one that could only be made by not focusing on the task.

Blushing, she picked up and mess and began to unravel the knots. "Sorry Granny. I'll try harder." She shouldn't be having this much trouble. This stuff should have been easy, especially compared to the wire connectors Pinako was working on. Winry looked at her Grandmother's work – all tight, controlled, and efficient – and then turned away and sighed.

"Perhaps," Pinako said, while expertly rolling wires between dexterous fingers, "You might not be ready to work on an actual customer job just yet. After all, you're still learning."

"Granny!" Winry exploded, tossing the mass of wires onto the table, "I can handle it just fine! Especially since you're not letting me help with anything but the easy stuff. I won't mess it up. I promise!"

"Pick it up." Watching Winry sheepishly rescue her work from the pile into which it had been thrown, Pinako raised an eyebrow. "Don't damage the equipment. It is expensive."

"I know." Winry blushed and sighed. "It's just… I don't know. This isn't just any customer job."

Pinako tapped her pipe against her lips thoughtfully. "Aha. Now we get to the heart of the matter."

The sun was now shining harsh and bright through the window. When Winry tried to look for the familiar tree and the two figures sheltered under it, the brightness hurt her eyes. She squinted and looked away.

"I guess…" the words trailed off along with the rest of the sentence, flittering away from Winry's tongue. She bit her lip and tried again. "I just can't get it out of my head, Granny. That night when Al came… looking so different… and Ed! Ed lying there so hurt… You'd think it would be easy to forget now, especially since Ed is feeling so much better – or at least pretending to be – but it's not."

Feeling her Grandmother's eyes on her, Winry felt embarrassed, but when the following silence grew thick, she spoke up once more.

"I wish he'd just admit he's hurt. He tries to act strong, but I can tell when he's in pain." She curled her lip in disgust. "If he would just swallow his pride for two seconds…"

"And the chances of that happening are…?" Pinako snorted.

Sighing in frustration, Winry fiddled with the loose end of a wire for a moment. "I just want to help him," she admitted slowly, "in whatever way I know how."

"If you want to help, then stop jabbering and get to work braiding those wires." Pinako's words seemed harsh, but Winry knew better than to take the bluntness of words as bluntness of feeling. A small proud smile played about her Grandmother's lips. "Don't worry your head too much about that boy. He's always been stubborn."

"Stubborn. Yeah, I'd agree to that," growled Winry. "I still don't think you should have let him outside. What if he catches a chill? I don't think he's recovered enough."

"Of course he isn't."

"What?" Winry gasped. "Then why'd you let him go out?"

"Would he have listened if I told him 'no'? At least this way we can make sure he takes some necessary precautions."

"Idiot," muttered Winry. "He's going to make himself worse off."

* * *

As it turned out, Ed won both of the pending arguments that day. Not only did he succeed in securing himself a full two hours outdoors (albeit, with Al's constant supervision), he convinced Pinako to let him have his first solid meal.

"How long has it been?" Ed had mused, "Boy, could I use some substantial grub for a change. I'm sick of broth! Let's see… chicken sounds nice… with some potatoes and a nice big cob of corn smothered in butter and salt…"

Pinako had laughed at him, telling him that he wasn't going to get anything quite that fancy yet, that his system was not quite ready for it. When Ed started to make a fuss about the fact that he was _injured_ and not _sick_, Pinako tried to explain to him the effects of blood loss and fatigue, coupled with a stomach that hadn't encountered solid food in over a week. Of course, Ed would have none of it.

His efforts won him a few strips of chicken for dinner.

Pinako had planned to monitor him as he ate, but he was obviously uncomfortable being watched over (though to his credit, he didn't complain) and he was handling the fork quite well considering he only had one hand, so she and Winry went to work on the automail for a while. Al would come get them if they were needed.

After almost thirty minutes of trying to puzzle out how to get dozens of wires through the tiny ports of the automail, Winry became frustrated.

"I just can't get this," Winry groaned, microns away from ripping her hair out.

Her Grandmother didn't even look up. "Don't worry, I'll help you. Let me finish with this…"

"No, it's okay." Winry stood up. "I'm going to go check on Ed."

"Take the dishes to the sink if he's finished."

"I will."

And it looked like she was going to end up doing so. Sure enough, when she reached his room, she saw that his plate sat empty on the table by his bed. Ed was sitting propped up in bed by several pillows squished between him and the wall. He looked up as she walked in the room.

"I see you ate all your dinner!" Winry grinned, walking over. "Was it good?"

"Delicious," he said softly with a crooked smile. His long bangs were drooping in his face.

Winry sat down on the edge of the bed and began to gather up the plates and utensils. It was then she noticed a presence missing from the room. "Where's Al?"

"I don't know," Ed shrugged, but Winry noticed that he was avoiding her gaze. "I guess he needed some time to think, or something."

She frowned. "You two aren't fighting, are you?"

"No! It's nothing like that!" he said almost a little too hastily. When she shot him a look that clearly said '_tell me the truth or else,'_ he gave in and sighed. "It's just hard on him, you know? Everything that's happened."

Winry stopped clattering the dishes long enough to give Ed her full attention. "You can talk to me about it, if you want."

She should have known better than to expect an answer. He was as silent as ever, his head low and causing his bangs to shadow his eyes. He was shaking slightly. At first, Winry just interpreted it as a symptom of his distress, but then she noticed that he was also looking a little pale.

"Ed?" she reached over and felt his forehead. No fever, although his skin did feel a little sweaty. "Are you all right?"

Shrugging away from her hand, he said, "I'm fine!" and tried to give her a confident grin. But his trembling lips gave away his weakness, as well as the convulsive gulp that tore through his throat a moment later.

Winry eyed him over for a moment. She noticed how his left arm was curled protectively around his stomach. "Ed, are you feeling nauseous?"

"Of course not!" He exclaimed, blinking and waving her away. "I feel fine."

Without even stopping to consider his answer, Winry walked over to the closet and pulled out a bucket.

"I don't need it. Put it back."

Winry brought over the bucket and set it on the nightstand. "But wouldn't you rather have it nearby, just in case?"

"No. It doesn't matter. I'm not feeling sick."

"Sure." She rolled her eyes, but inwardly she was worried. She noticed how Ed was starting to look a little green around his eyes and in the hollow of his cheeks. "You should have listened to Granny. You really _aren't_ ready for solid food, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," though he tried to sound assured, the words came out like moans. "That old hag doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm getting better…"

"Right!" Winry flung her hands in the air in agitation. She knew she probably shouldn't have been shouting at him, but she couldn't help herself. "You're getting better? That's why you're sitting there weak as a kitten! Stop trying to act tough and strong, 'cause you're _not_ right now."

Sulking, she turned her back to him for several long moments. Her statement must have hit a soft spot. Ed made no response. After a while, she forced herself to turn around and look at Ed again. That short respite allowed her to see Edward as if for the first time. He lay sagged against the pillows, his breath coming in unsteady gasps and his hair drooping in sweat-soaked strands across a face pinched with pain; he looked frail, miserable, and very very ill. Winry began to feel horribly guilty.

"I'm sorry, Ed." She whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," his voice cracked wearily, "I deserved it."

Shaking her head, Winry gave him a sad smile. She stood for a moment so that she could tuck in the wrinkled blankets around her friend's shaking form, being sure to take care near the stump of what used to be his left leg. Ed seemed to be worn out; he made no complaints as she adjusted the bedsheets and pillows. His eyes were closed.

"You don't have to pretend you know." She said, ready to meet his gaze as he opened his eyes. They were fogged and weary.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," persisted Winry. "I know why you've been pushing yourself so hard these past few days. I could label it as just another example of your pigheaded stupidity, but there's something more." When Ed didn't answer, she continued. "Granny may seem like she doesn't notice your weak moments; after all, she _does_ pretty much let you set your own limits a lot of the time. But I've seen her with other automail patients. No matter how hard you try and convince her that you're recovering more quickly than humanly possible, she's not going to perform the surgery until she is absolutely positive that you are ready."

Ed made a face. "Stubborn old crone."

"Hey now," she jested, "'Stubborn'? You're one to talk. No wonder Al got fed up with you."

Although she had meant it jokingly, she soon discovered that she had said the wrong thing entirely. A gray shadow overtook his face. "Come off it. Don't talk about things you don't understand."

Silence. Before she could think of something to say, a jolt seemed to go through Ed. He curled forward, hugging his belly.

In an instant, Winry was there with the bucket. "Don't worry," she assured him, holding the bucket near his chin. "We can always try solid food another day when you're stronger." Of course, she was no longer convinced that it was the solid food making him ill.

"I hate being so helpless." He trembled and swallowed tightly.

Hesitating for only a moment, Winry began to rub his back in soothing circles, like her mother used to do for her when she wasn't feeling well. "It's okay," she soothed, "Let it out. You'll feel better afterwards."

It didn't take much longer before his body rebelled against him and did just that. Winry stayed with him the whole time, whispering comforting nothings into his ear and holding the bucket steady as Ed lost the dinner he had fought so hard for.

The ordeal lasted many long painful minutes. When it finally let up, Ed was gasping for breath. Winry got up to go rinse out the bucket and get Ed a towel for his mouth. She wasn't gone long. Hurrying back into the room, she gently mopped his face. Pulling out the pillows behind him so that he could lie comfortable and flat, she laid a damp cloth that she brought from the bathroom across his sweaty forehead. This done, she began to gather up the abandoned dinner plates, but halted as she felt a tug on her skirt. Startled, she turned around to see Ed's bleary eyes looking up at her.

"Winry?" He mumbled, "Do me a f-favor?"

She turned to face him fully. "What is it?"

"D-d-don't-" his breath hitched. "Don't tell Al. 'Bout this…. 'bout me getting sick. Don't want him to worry."

Winry frowned. "But…"

"Please?" Ed's eyes were wide and pleading.

Sighing, Winry began heading towards the door, carrying the stacked empty plates. "I won't tell him… but I think you should. He's your brother, and he deserves to know when you're not feeling well."

She heard Ed sigh in relief as she shut the door and headed down the hall to the kitchen. It was too much to hope for, she knew, that Ed would openly admit anything of the sort to anyone, especially to Al, for whom he had always tried to appear so unfailingly strong. But she could not control him. She could only help him out when he struggled and offer advice whenever she was able.

It was the best she could do.


	3. Metal

Before I get into the ficlet (my favorite of the three so far!), I'd like to ask you guys a question. Do you prefer that I reply to reviews in the chapter, or with the "review reply" feature? I haven't really done the review reply feature at all yet, because last time I was seriously posting a multi-chapter fic, it wasn't available. I'll go ahead and do it here this time... but feel free to tell me what you think, so I can decide what option I'll take in the future.

And is anyone else having problems with the document manager? Everytime I type in something with the edit feature, it always messes up the spacing. If you see two words slurred together, it's not my fault, I swear! I'm trying to fix it, but new instances of spacing issues keep popping up. (This is already the third time I've reloaded this chapter!) By the way, thanks to please-knock for pointing out the typo that _was _my fault. Thanks hun, it's all fixed now:-)

**please-knock**: Thank you for the wonderful compliments! Characterization happens to be the one writing element thatI beat myself up over the most. It means a lot to me that you think it was well done. Hugs for you.

**Kabashka**:Thanks for the reviews! Yes, puking is never fun. Poor Ed.:-(

**Sera and Tails**: Wow, what kind reviews! And I am so happy that I've found some kindred spirits out there who despise yaoi as much as I do. Especially Ed/Al. I would never write yaoi in a setting like this... the characters are too young, they're brothers, and... no.

**CaptainKase**: So kind as always! 1) Never yaoi. I really don't understand how Ed/Al would work with Al in the armor... and I _really_ don't want to try my imagination on it. 2) There should be more fics in this time frame. It rocks! 3) Angst is good:-D 4) Wow... I don't know what to say. I guess "thanks" will have to do for now. I'm so glad you think I'm doing well! 5) "Off-camera" stories are my favorite to write.:-)

I'm so humbled by all of your reviews! Thanks, so much! I'll try and live up to your expectations.

_Additional Disclaimer:_ I am not a doctor. Nothing in this story should be taken as medical fact. Nor am I an automail engineer. I've tried very hard to be as accurate as possible, but I needed more detail on the process of attaching automail than was provided in the series.I had to fill in the gaps, studying episodes and screencaps to try and understand how the parts of the process we didn't see on screen would work. If I've gotten something wrong, please let me know so I can fix it.

Also, we are officially up to a T rating, due to Ed's potty mouth.

* * *

"Brother, you need to hold still."

"Dammit, I'm trying!"

Edward squirmed in his chair. The seat reclined back ever so slightly, but it was enough that without a second leg to balance him, Ed felt like he was about to slide off. He reached about with his left hand for something to hold on to, but there were no armrests. He gripped the edge of the seat instead; it didn't help much.

Noticing his trouble, Winry came over from the other side of the room. Al scooted off to the side, making room for her to come right up next to Ed and pulled a little lever hidden behind the chair. It reclined further, allowing Ed to lie back comfortably. He sighed in relief.

"Thanks, Winry," he mumbled. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. The white walls in the room were blinding. Whoever said white was a calming color lied.

"Sure, no problem." Winry smiled. "You need anything else, ask."

Ed snorted. "Yeah, sure." He cracked his eyes open to watch Winry walk back over to the table in the corner and go back to what she had been doing previously – sorting sheets of metal and braided wires. Suppressing a shudder, he looked away.

He didn't like to think of himself as a particularly nervous person. Normally, he wasn't. But now, he felt … how to put it… 'jumpy.' Every time he heard a clang of metal from across the room, a strange jolt fluttered through his stomach. It didn't help that Al was hovering over him like a mother hen. True, he was silent and still… but he _was_ hovering. Ed could sense it.

It was too silent. The only sounds present were Ed's breathing and Winry's distracted mumbling as she worked. Even as quiet as they were, the noises echoed in the room.

Ed _hated_ this room. It was completely out of place compared to the rest of the Rockbell residence. It lacked that warm aura of a family home, the sort of comfort that comes from crooked pictures on the wall and socks lying haphazardly on the floor. This room didn't have any of the charm of fading wallpaper, apple pies, creaky floorboards. It was blank and stark. Gray tiles covered the floor, and the walls stood high and devoid of adornment. All of the furniture was comprised of two substances: cold metal and stiff leather. A flat surgery table sat ready and waiting on the other side of the room. Ed was trying very hard not to notice it.

There was a large steel cabinet in the corner. The first time that Winry had opened it, Ed had stared stupidly at its contents. Rows upon rows of screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, and drills glinted wickedly in the harsh light. Tools hung on racks, perfectly in line like soldiers, organized by size and purpose. The cabinet next to it was worse. Ed was only able to catch a brief glimpse of the surgical needles and knives before Winry'd noticed his wide-eyed stare and quickly shut the cabinet.

The door opened, the sudden loud creak causing Ed to flinch.

"Good morning, Granny," Al said cheerfully – so cheerfully that Ed knew his brother was just as nervous as he was.

"I brought up the schematics," Pinako said, shutting the door behind her and carrying in a small case. "How are the preparations coming, Winry?"

Her Granddaughter looked up. "All right, I think. Will you check and make sure I did it all right?"

Pinako walked right past Ed and Al, going over to the corner where Winry stood pointing to what looked to Ed like metal scraps scattered across the table in nonsensical piles. Pinako, however, looked it over and nodded proudly. "Good work. That's one more thing to check off the list."

Only then did Pinako walk over to the chair where Ed lay. She lifted the case onto a small stand nearby. Opening it, she pulled out some papers and pinned them on the wall.

Tired of being ignored, Ed decided to speak up. "Are those…?"

"Schematics," Pinako stated matter-of-factly. "For the automail."

Ed frowned. "It doesn't look complete."

"Well of course not. We're not doing the entire surgery in one go."

"What!" He hated the way his voice squeaked just then. "Why not?"

"Brother," Al piped up, fidgeting restlessly, "Trust Granny Pinako. She knows what she's doing."

"But Al – "

Whatever Ed was about to say was cut off by a curt glance from Pinako. He was about to head off into an edgy sulk, when the woman spoke, "It's quite all right. Ed has every right to know what he's getting himself into."

Ed considered muttering, "Damn right," but thought better of it. Sure enough, Pinako continued after only a moment's pause.

"Automail surgery is too involved for just one procedure," she explained, while pinning more papers onto the wall. "Besides, your body would probably not be able to handle the strain."

"I see…" Ed gulped. "What part are we getting done today, then?"

"Today, we're installing the docking ports."

"So… no wire work?"

"No. Wire work comes later."

Ed expelled a long, slow breath. A couple of days before, Winry had explained the process of attaching his nerves to the wires in the mechanism. Safe to say, Ed was _not_ looking forward to it.

Al must have sensed his older brother's apprehension. "It's okay to be nervous, Ed," his echoing voice piped up softly behind the chair. "I would be too – "

"I'm not nervous," Ed declared. He turned a pair of determined gold eyes to the blank armored face staring down at him. "It's all part of the plan. I get automail, become a State Alchemist, and figure out a way to put you back in the flesh again. Piece of cake, right?"

Ed hoped he sounded more convincing to his brother than he did to himself.

"All right, Ed," Pinako suddenly turned her attention back to the small boy. "Scoot over a bit for me, I need to get at the bandages."

Ed complied, allowing Pinako to begin unwrapping the itchy white cloth around his right shoulder. The view underneath was rather grotesque. Part of his shoulder socket had been torn out along with the arm, causing the skin to concave inwards where it should have been supported by strong bone. Around the gaping cavity were ragged, puckered scars that flushed an angry red from the blood that threatened just beneath the surface. Ed shivered. The sensitive, healing skin was not used to being uncovered, and the cold air tickled it horribly.

"Winry," Pinako's voice shook everyone's attention away from the gruesome sight. "Can you bring me the marker?" Her granddaughter pressed the desired object into Pinako hands almost before the request had finished being spoken. She eyed the schematics for a moment, before turning back to her patient and uncapping the marker.

Ed flinched as the rough ink tip made contact with his skin. He sat in silence, watching the expert automail engineer draw webs of lines, dots, and symbols around his shoulder. If he used enough imagination, it almost looked like a transmutation circle. He frowned when Pinako colored in a particularly large circle right on the curve of his collarbone.

Tilting his head back, he examined the schematic, trying to understand what all the marks meant. If it _had_ been a transmutation circle, Ed probably would be able to comprehend it. Shouldn't automail be easier to understand than alchemy? There was a label, "ANCHOR POINT," adjacent to the corresponding area of the large dot on the schematic. Whatever that meant. There were a few more similar labels over a couple of the ribs and along the shoulder blade.

Seemingly finished with the markings, Pinako picked up a ruler and laid it across the large dot across Ed's collarbone. With the marker, she made necessary adjustments to the size of the dot. "1.2 centimeters - diameter," she called out to Winry, who picked out a small metal part from a case and packaged it in a sterilized baggie. Ed froze as he realized what that 'small metal part' was. A bolt. A mechanical bolt. 1.2 centimeters… the "anchor point" mark… the bolt… to be drilled into his collarbone…

Holy _shit_.

* * *

"That's good, Al. Just lay him down right there." 

Ed, with his cheek awkwardly pressed up against the cold metal, could feel the vibrations as a small voice spoke, "Yes ma'am."

Careful not to jostle his older brother overly much, Al carefully set Ed down on the surgical table. Although it irked his pride to be carried like that, Ed knew that having Al transport him from the chair to the table was a far better (and easier) option than being half-dragged with Winry and Pinako struggling to hold him up on either side.

The table was hard, cold, and uncomfortable. Sprawled out flat like he was, with everyone bustling about around him carrying trays and boxes and rolling carts bearing automail parts and doing various other tasks to prepare for the surgery, Ed couldn't help but feel as if he were some sort of insentient test subject. Everything – the cabinets, the floor lamp, the medical carts, even Al – seem to loom over him. To make it worse, Pinako had stripped him down to practically nothing. The only thing preserving any shred of his dignity was a pair of very tiny boxers. So now he got to lie down half-naked in front of people who were about to scrutinize him with metal objects. Sure, if he were to trust anyone to cut into him, it would be the Rockbells. But _still_.

Suddenly, Ed realized that while he was internally complaining, Winry had been talking to him.

" – just going to be a quick pinch, don't worry." To his horror, Ed noticed that in his friend's hand was a syringe, with a long, thin, very _sharp_ needle.

"What are you doing?" He exploded, backing away reflexively.

"I _knew_ you weren't paying attention!" Winry groaned and rolled her eyes. "Granny says you need this shot."

"Why?" Ed's sweaty hand was slipping on the unforgiving surface of the surgical table. "Do I really need it? Can't we skip this part?"

"Absolutely not," said Pinako, having overheard the conversation. "The medicine in this shot will put you out for the surgery. Believe me, you will _not_ want to be conscious for it."

Ed frowned. "I thought I had to be kept _awake_ for the surgery?"

"Only when we're working with your nerves," the old woman explained, "to be sure that we're not doing anything to interfere with sensory pulses. Installing the docking ports, however, does not involve tampering with your nervous system. It would be best for you to accept the shot, young man."

Winry nodded, tapping the back of the syringe against the palm of her hand. "Are you ready, Ed?"

By this time, Ed's face had fallen. Gritting his teeth, he replied, "You know how much I hate shots, Winry..."

"Just look away. You'll be fine." Winry took his left arm firmly, laying it out on the table and exposing the tender, pale skin on the underside of his arm.

Although he tried his best to follow her advice, he couldn't help but watch as she dabbed a tiny, sterilized cloth across his inner elbow. The tiny area glinted wetly, coldly. A fat, blue vein pulsed beneath.

Winry felt him shiver, looked up to see his eyes wide and locked on her hand as it rubbed in the disinfectant. "What is it about shots that bother you so much, anyways?" She asked suddenly, hesitating while the syringe sat waiting in the palm of her other hand.

"I don't know," murmured Ed. He was embarrassed to be showing so much weakness in front of her. "I'm not afraid of the pain. Hell, it doesn't hurt that much anyways. I guess it's just… just the thought of metal going _in_ me… sort of creeps me out."

She pursed her lips and frowned. "But Ed… if _that's_ what bothers you, then wouldn't automail – "

"Just hurry up and get it over with, would you?" Ed grinned at her, relieved that she did not pursue her question that he had so blatantly ignored.

Tensing, he prepared himself for the shot. He picked a spot on the ceiling and stared intently at it, pretending that he wasn't aware of the dimple forming on his skin before the needle pierced his flesh and pretending that he didn't cringe as he felt the smooth metal sliding effortlessly into him.

He was still staring at the same spot several minutes later, when the medicine began to take hold. Hazy splotches ate away at the corners of his vision. The ceiling gradually blurred, faded, and then fell into blackness.


	4. Rhythms

Hello everyone! I dearly apologize for the long wait. I hit a very very busy time in my life - Prom, Graduation, College Class Registrations, starting a summer jobwhere I get to bashinstruments over the heads of small children - er, I mean, tune cellos for a strings camp.

I've actually had this chapter finished for a couple of weeks (woah there! Before you throw the rotten fruit, let me explain). I'd made a deal with myself that I would never post a chapter until I'd already written the subsequent chapter. Because I've been busy, I haven't had time to write the chapter that comes afterwards. In fact, I still haven't finished it... but I figured you folks have waited long enough.

After careful deliberation (and some experimental ventures), I've decided to answer reviews in the body of chapters. That doesn't mean I won't use review reply here and there... but I think this way is easier for me. For one thing, I can barely keep track of who I've replied to and what I said to whom. If I've already replied to your review... I won't do it in chapter now since I've already talked to you, but I probably will next time.

**CaptainKase:** of cors i 4give u sillie!11!one! Ack... inner Grammar Nazi is spazzing out. Congratulations on _Shattered _reaching 150 reviews! Yay! And don't you fret about leaving long reviews... I love long reviews. They make me happy. :-) --- see, happy me.

**Child of a Pineapple:** Thank you so much! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

**Yellow Mask:** Some of the best you've seen? You can't be serious! Be careful now, you're going to inflate my ego. Meep!

**Issachan:** Thanks! I was hoping these could be taken as gap-fillers. AU stories are fun, but there's always those little moments you want to see that you know did or might have happened off screen.

**Beboots:** I'm glad you're enjoying it! One more person to add to list of those who adore this timeline. :-D highfive

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* * *

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**Rhythms**

_He buried his face in the warmth, hot tears staining little smudges on the soft fabric. Another smaller body came up beside him. There was enough room for both. There always had been. In, out, in, out. Pressed up against her like he was, he could feel her breathing. In, out, in, out. The breaths were quick from worry. As long as he held on tightly, closed his eyes, and could feel her arms holding both he and his brother close, nothing bad could happen – to any of them. Winry's face flashed before his eyes, her face pinched with grief. A sob broke out. He clutched on even tighter._

"_What's the matter with you two?" With his ear pressed to her stomach, he could feel the words vibrate. But he could not answer. Any words he might have said caught in his throat._

_"Come on, Ed, even you? My little man?" His face flushed with shame. What was he doing? It was such a childish thing. No matter how hard he held on, he could do nothing. If she got called away and died in some far away place like Winry's parents, there was nothing he could do about it. He was helpless._

_He knew this, and yet he could not – would not – let go. His breath hitched through the tears._

"_What could be so bad?"_

* * *

Bubbling up as if from some deep, dark expanse of water, Ed returned to consciousness. Even before he opened his eyes, he was already weary again. He felt strange and out of sorts; his head seemed like it was filled with dense cotton. Most of all, he felt _heavy_, heavier than he had ever felt in his life.

"Brother?"

The word stuck inside his cotton-filled head and continued to ring. A deep, stabbing pain throbbed somewhere deep under layers of metal and skin. That pulsing ache lined up with the beats of his heart, causing an endless rhythm to slog through him second after second.

The automail had finished being attached days ago, but he still wasn't used to it. The cumbersome limbs lay stiff and solid, tugging at areas that were not accustomed to the extra weight. Winry said that it was always more painful the first time. Automail attachment, she said –

"Brother?"

- was a rude shock for frazzled nerves. To suddenly have a missing limb _be there_ was about the worst form of "phantom limb" you could get.

Ed didn't want to open his eyes. It was an odd cruel torture to be awake and yet be unable to do anything. Ed had not been able to lift himself from this bed for days. Winry and Pinako came in from time to time to help him with exercises to strengthen his muscles, but so far he couldn't even manage raising the metal arm or leg a few inches without assistance.

"Brother?"

Ed sighed and clenched his eyes shut. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep…

"Brother, I know you're awake."

… Damn it.

Opening his eyes, Ed watched as a very blurry suit of armor almost came into focus. He blinked and squinted. The light reflecting off of his brother was doing nothing for the brewing headache.

"Are you feeling better?"

Groaning, Ed buried the side of his face in his pillow. "Define 'better.'"

Ed jumped as he felt cool, rough fingers on his shoulder. Al, with his leather armored gloves and hesitant touch, massaged the muscles that had been stretched tight and sore by the recent abuse of the automail. Ed opened his mouth to tell him it wasn't necessary, but succumbed to the calming gesture and relaxed into it. Under Al's hands, the sharpest of the ache slowly bled away.

When Pinako first suggested this method to reduce muscle pain, Al had been very timid. He was still a bit awkward in his larger body, and seemed almost afraid to touch anyone or anything for fear of hurting rather than helping. The thought hurt Ed more than his shoulder and leg.

"Winry and Granny Pinako should come in soon," Al said, suspiciously sounding like he was fishing for conversation material. "For your exercises."

"I can't wait," Ed mumbled, willing himself to sink into the mattress.

When he didn't say anything more, the two lapsed into a lengthy silence. Al continued to massage his older brother's shoulder, but his movements were now slower, more cautious. At last, Al spoke up, his voice small, anxious, and curious.

"Does it hurt a lot?"

"It hurts enough," Ed replied. He looked down and away. Biting his lip, he forced his voice to take on a lighter tone as he turned his glace back to the expressionless helmet that served his little brother as a face. "You shouldn't worry. It's nothing I can't handle."

"Oh." And that was it. Just that one brief word that confirmed understanding. If Al knew that Ed was putting on a brave face (which was so obvious it wasn't even debatable), then he didn't seem up to trying to break it down.

"_Gah!_"

Ed winced and clenched his teeth. Al exploded into a frenzied stream of apologies; he had accidentally touched one of the tender scars that snaked out from under the lip of the docking port.

"Al, don't –" But his words were lost among the avalanche of 'I'm sorry,' 'I'll be more careful next time,' and 'I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?' The onslaught was crushing.

"Al!"

The sudden outburst cut him off, leaving Al staring at his brother, still and quiet.

Ed breathed deeply. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

After that, another silence stole over the room. Ed could hear rattling from the other side of the wall. Winry and Pinako were probably gathering what they needed for today's bloodletting, a.k.a. Ed's periodical strengthening exercises. Since when were those pathetic little motions and activities known as exercise? Ed refused to acknowledge the fact that these "pathetic little motions" were ridiculously difficult to perform.

It was several minutes later when Al spoke again. "Brother," he asked softly, "if you knew that getting automail was going to be like this, would you have done it anyways?"

"Of course," Ed answered without hesitation. "It's all part of the plan, right?"

"Well, yes," stammered Al. "But… but it doesn't… I mean, you shouldn't feel like you have to – "

"Don't Al. Don't." Laying his left hand on an armor gauntlet, Ed smiled at his little brother. "I _do_ have to do this. You're not going to change my mind, so save your breath."

Easing back into the pillow, Ed closed his eyes, that declaration soothing his nerves. Then he realized what his tongue had let slip, and he bit back a curse. 'Save your _breath'_ indeed. Stupid. Stupid, stupid.

* * *

Once, when Winry and Al thought him asleep, Ed overheard the two of them talking. It had been late, and the light coming in through the door to the hallway was like a streak of gold, partially shadowed by the hulking form of a suit of armor. Whispers echoed against the quiet walls.

Ed had been ready to go back asleep, when he came to the realization that they were talking about _him_.

So he listened, the unknown third party in the conversation. Confusion and dismay spun webs inside of him, as he caught little snatches of words and phrases. Winry sounded upset and worried… but as Ed began to understand, for once this worry was not directed solely at him.

"… think that Brother just…"

"… feel hurt that he… ?"

"… sure that he doesn't mean anything by it…"

"… but it's like he's afraid to even look at you…"

Ed's heart sank lower and lower with each word. Evidently, here was another failure to add to his list. He'd been trying so hard… the forced litany circulating through his thoughts. That wasn't an emotionless hunk of steel. That was his brother, damn it. But always, just when he'd begin to see his brother behind that blank helmet, it would dissolve into the image of Al screaming and crying for help as he was dragged away from the transmutation circle bearing a bleeding Edward and the tainted, twisted body of –

"… know how he is… do everything right, even back in training…"

"… think he…?"

"… more hurt than I am… failed transmutation… two of us… mistake so big like that eats at him."

Burying his ears into the bed, Ed willed himself to be deaf to it all. Was that all that he was guilty of, all that he suffered from? A _mistake_? _Mistake _was hardly a sufficient word for it.

Al went on to tell Winry how much he thought the incident was his own fault, but Ed could stand it no longer. He blocked himself from the pity and the pained voice of his brother and begged for sleep.

* * *

The day came when Ed had progressed enough in his exercises to try walking with his new leg. He still hadn't made much progress with the arm, but Pinako explained to him that arms are much more difficult to get used to. It doesn't matter as much when gravity pulls down on legs, since they hang down straight at the lower end of the body anyways, but when arms are too restricted, they are useless.

Because keeping track of both cumbersome automail limbs while walking would be too much trouble at this point, Winry pinned the right arm into a sling, keeping it out of the way and relieving some of the burden off his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, young man?" Pinako asked of the small boy sitting on the side of the bed.

The mattress creaked as Ed shifted. "Yes."

"If you want, you can start off with Winry and I supporting you."

"No thanks, I'll do just fine."

Despite his insistence, he still allowed Winry to help haul him to his feet. She grasped his left arm to steady him as he wavered. Pinako stood to the side, fiddling with her pipe, her face expressionless. On the far side of the room, Al sat silently against the wall with a slice of apple pie in his hands.

Winry seemed positive that the process would be a whole lot easier with reinforcement. So she had brought up the piece of pie from the kitchen, knowing that Ed had not had many sweets at all during his recovery. The pie had been greeted with laughter and smiles.

Pinako looked at Ed with a scolding eye. "If you start to feel pain in the leg, you be sure to stop."

"Sure," Ed blurted, as the old woman's words flew out the other ear unheeded.

He shook off Winry, and took a step forward. Then another, then another. The automail foot scraped across the floor. It was more like dragging a leaden weight then walking, Ed mused. Clink, scrape, thunk. Clink, scrape, thunk. A tight, pulling feeling gripped his thigh, but he ignored it. He stumbled as his foot caught on an uneven floorboard.

"Careful!" Winry burst out. She was holding out her arms towards him, following him with hands poised, ready to catch him at a moments notice. "If you feel unsteady, tell me. It will hurt if you fall – "

"I will _not_ fall."

Gazing across the room, Ed latched on to the sight of the reinforcement Winry had laid out for him. Not the pie, but the person holding the pie. The massive armor suit, cold and hard, covered with spikes and set with empty, slitted eyes. Ed imagined how that face used to look, before being dragged away by swarms of grasping black fingers. He remembered the smile, the chubby young face, the wide innocent eyes. All ripped away into the void.

I won't let you be taken from me. Not like her.

He didn't remember when he had started moving again, but he was now walking faster than before, a clumsy stilted gait that sent spears of pain through his leg.

"Ed, stop!"

The voice tore through him, but he didn't listen. He was barely aware of the blood seeping out from his reopened scars, cracked from the pressure. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered was Al.

Winry's hand took his left arm. "Ed, you're bleeding. You need to – Ed!" He wrenched himself from her grasp, the action sending him off balance. He swayed, staggering to the side, vision blurring from disorientation. Just when he was about to tumble off his feet, he bumped right into something solid. Two huge arms lurched out to catch him.

"Brother?"

Ed blinked. Colors swirled and danced before his eyes. The first thing he saw, as the painful haze receded, was a pie plate lying overturned on the floor. And then a sound… What was that dull thumping noise?

"Al?"

As Ed gathered his senses, he found himself slumped against Al, who apparently had jumped up to catch him as he began to fall. Winry and Pinako fussed about him, pressing gauze against the frayed strips of skin on his thigh, but their words made only distant babbling. All noise was drowned out by the rhythmic thumps beating out a mantra in Ed's left ear as it rested against the smooth armor chestplate.

It took Ed a full minute to comprehend that what he heard was a heartbeat, a warm, steady pulsation full of life and energy. Just soon enough after to quash his rising elation, he realized that the sound was merely the echo of his _own_ heartbeat, reverberating within the hollow shell of his little brother.


	5. To Train the Body

Greetings! This will be the last time I greet you guys for a little bit. Yes, this is my last planned chapter of this fic. But never fear! As soon as this gets uploaded, I will begin work on my next FMA fic, a lovely little angsty Al-centric story that might actually have (gasp!) a plot! I will start posting it when have all/most of it finished. Feel free to PM me or contact me on AIM (rosie2282em) andthreaten meto keep me working on it! 

Ahuge GIGANTENORMOUS thanks to CaptainKase, my new beta! When I dedicated the first chapter to this amazing authoress, I had absolutely no inclination that I would be blessed with the honor of having her advise me on my work. Many many hugs for you dearie!

**Sera and Tails:** Thank you so much! Yes, of _course_ the chapter had to be written with love... it had the world's two best brothers in it:-D

**CaptainKase:** I won't talk your ear off here, since we have chatted much since your review and OMG THANKS FOR THE BETA! But yay for record length reviews! -dances- And now I will never be able to read that chapter without imagining Al bursting into flames. Thanks. :-P

**Angel Spirit**: Hurray for no Elricest! Yet another kindred spirit! -hugs- I agree that Al was probably the more protective brother in this timeframe... but even throughout the series, I think that "protectiveness" was a two-way street between them. They just expressed it in different ways.

**please-knock:** I love the pie:-D I would have made it key lime pie (yummy X 100) instead of apple, but I'm not sure if they grow those in Resembool. Ah well. Glad you liked it!

**Beboots**: Yes, we fastforwarded in time. :-/ I would have loved many more chapters of convalescence... but I would have eventually run out of things to write about, and then chapters would have started sounding the same.

**Child of a Pineapple:** Yay! Glad you enjoyed it! -hugs- Here's the next chapter for you!

_Medical Disclaimer_ - Again, I am no medical expert. I try to be as accurate and realistic as I can, but don't take things I say for exact medical truth. However, make I make note that many areas of this chapter are, in fact, based on fact. I had a friend once who had a disease that shot her nervous system, and she had to regain her fine motor skills. She was able to tell me about the process (such as the little exercise Ed goes through!).

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* * *

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**To Train the Body**

"Touch my finger, touch your nose. Touch my finger, touch your nose. Touch my finger…"

"Hey Al, remember what Teacher always told us? About training the mind?"

"Touch your nose… she told us that to train the mind you must also train the body."

Ed snorted as a cold, metal finger poked his nose. "Makes you wonder what awful things this is doing to my mind, doesn't it?"

"You're slowing down the pace. Stop talking," came Pinako's voice from across the room.

Al tensed. "Yes ma'am! Touch my finger, touch your nose. Touch my finger, touch your nose…" and so continued the monotonous chant.

According to Pinako, this exercise was vital to gaining accurate mobility in his automail arm. So she trained Al to help Ed perform this exercise three times a day for thirty minutes. Not that Al needed much training. His job consisted of sitting in front of his brother, perfectly still, with a hand raised and one finger extended, repeating, 'Touch my finger, touch your nose.'

Ed, meanwhile, would attempt to follow these commands. As easy as it sounded, the task was monumentally difficult. Al's index finger had never before seemed smaller or farther away. Hesitancy was not permitted during this exercise. The rate at which he needed to obey Al's directions was relentless.

Almost constantly, Ed would unsteadily reach out with his automail arm, shooting for that reference point –

- and miss completely. These moments always infuriated him. How hard is it to tap a damn finger? Not only that, but bruises were beginning to form where Ed had bypassed his nose and jabbed himself in the eye.

Ed could see it now. He'd finally make it to Central to take the National Alchemist Exam, and the first thing Lieutenant Colonel Mustang would notice would be the dark smudges under his eyes. '_Oh – no, no,'_ he could picture himself saying._ 'These purple blotches aren't from lack of sleep. I only punched myself in the eye a few hundred times during physical therapy and was in such a rush to get here and kiss your ass that they didn't quite have time to heal.'_

What a joke.

Both Winry and Pinako assured him that it would get easier as time went on. The new, fragile nerves in his arm, they said, needed to be conditioned before they could acquire any semblance of precise movement. Until then, the movements of his automail were errant and likely to misfire.

All Ed knew for sure was that he was sick of it all.

Ed reached out on a 'touch my finger,' and only hit air. He growled and tried again. The endless cycle of boredom and humiliation continued, broken only when Pinako declared the thirty-minute workout complete.

* * *

She didn't know whether to laugh or to be concerned.

Winry had spent the last forty-five minutes closed away in her room organizing screwdrivers into numerical order by size. It had been a while since she'd given her toolbox a good cleaning. There was still so much to be done! The power drills had yet to be cleaned and the wrenches were in need of a good polish.

So it had come as a sudden unwelcome distraction from her work when she heard a shouted _"Dammit!"_ coming from the room next door.

"What is it this time, Ed?"

Fully prepared to be angry and annoyed beyond belief, she stormed down the hallway, throwing open the door and planting her hands on her hips.

"Ed, what – " A flash of white at her feet caught her eye. She looked down at the substance in question, and found that it was powdery and grainy, spider-webbed across the floor in a very familiar way. Chalk?

"Don't even _think_ about laughing, mechanics junkie."

Truth be told, Winry was too puzzled by the scene that greeted her to cook up a comeback to his remark.

Edward sat in the middle of the floor with a wet mop in his hands. The bucket of soapy water lay on its side, and the amount of liquid splashed on Ed explained the shouted curse. He was clad in nothing but a pair of boxers, which seemed to be soaking up more water from the puddle on the floor than the mop, and a gray collared shirt that hung on him solely by the left sleeve. His hair was messily tied up with a rubber band, several tangled strands hanging loose over his pouting face.

He was a mess.

Beside him lay some piece of dishware that was shattered beyond recognition. Winry's attention was drawn back to the chalk on the floor.

Not being able to help it, Winry raised an eyebrow at the wet, sulking boy before her. "You've gotten yourself into strange situations before, Ed, but I have to say, this one takes the cake."

"Shut up," Ed growled. Gripping the mop, he tried to use it to level himself to his feet, but he seemed to be having trouble getting the automail leg to bend beneath him. Before long, he gave up and flopped defeatedly back down in the puddle.

Winry sighed. She knew that he must have slipped, because otherwise he would not have been on the floor. Despite how much he had progressed with the physical therapy (he could walk steadily now, albeit with a slight limp), he still had a long way to go. Standing up from a _chair_ was difficult for him – standing up from the floor would be near impossible.

Striding over to him, Winry took the mop and leaned it against the wall. "Come on," she said, "let's get you up off the floor so you can tell me all about how you got into this ridiculous mess."

She held out both hands, braced her feet as he grasped her wrist (though the fact that he hadn't yet mastered his metal hand was apparent when he grasped just a little too hard) and offered her strength to help him pull himself up. He swayed as he stood. Winry was patient, serving as his support while he regained equilibrium in his unbalanced body.

As soon as she was sure he was steadied, Winry released her hold on him. Pulling open his dresser drawers, she began fishing for some dry clothes. She noticed how he leaned up against the wall. It was apparent that he didn't want to go through the trouble of sitting down again. He was toeing idly at the broken pieces of dishware.

"I didn't know you'd started using alchemy again," she said suddenly.

Ed looked up, his eyes wide. Then he sighed and thunked his head back against the wall. "I haven't. Not yet, anyways."

"These are transmutation circles, aren't they?" Throwing a pile of clothes onto the bed, she pointed to the lopsided chalk drawings on the floor.

"Barely. Why do you think the plate is still broken?" Ed scowled. "Not even an idiot would attempt alchemy with one of those crappy things."

True, they were far from the clean, stark circles she'd seen him draw in the past. The various wobbly lines and shapes she saw here looked like a toddler's scribbling.

"Which hand did you draw with?"

"What?" Ed blinked. The question had startled him. "My right," he said promptly, as if the answer was obvious.

"There's your problem," Winry replied, feeling a little guilty for not bringing up this particular subject with him earlier. "Automail generally can't perform such fine motor skills like drawing and writing. You should have used your left."

"But…" Ed frowned. "Winry, I'm right-handed."

A short no-nonsense "hmph" came from the doorway as Pinako walked by. "Then you're going to have to start training your left hand, boy," the old woman said, adjusting her glasses. "You still haven't finished cleaning that scientific drivel from my floor, I see."

Ed grabbed a drinking glass from his nightstand and hurled it in her direction, but by the time it approached its destination, Pinako had already shut the door and continued down the hallway. The glass smashed harmlessly against the flat, impassive wood.

"Dammit!" cried Ed, punching the wall with his flesh fist. "Nobody told me I had to relearn how to use both of my hands!"

A sick feeling coiled in Winry's stomach. "I'm sorry, Ed."

He swallowed tightly, as if physically stifling his displeasure. He let his hand slide from the cracked paint on the wall – yet more collateral damage from his stay for Pinako to get upset about. "Don't you go getting emotional on me. Not your fault I'm stuck with the motor skills of a four year old."

Ed's mouth twisted into a wry grin that didn't reach his eyes. A lock of gold hair fell into his face. He swiped it out of the way and shoved it back through the rubber band. "Damn hair," he muttered.

"Ed," Winry leapt at the opportunity to change the subject, "if you don't like your hair long, why don't you cut it?"

"You're joking, right? You saw how I handle chalk. Put a pair of scissors in my hand and the only thing that will get cut is my jugular," he sneered, trying to tighten the rubber band, but he was getting increasingly frustrated as more strands kept falling out. That sad excuse for a ponytail was not going to serve its function well, and they both knew it. Winry decided not to press the fact that he could have always asked either she or Pinako to cut his hair for him.

"May I…?" she asked hesitantly, fearing to tread too far lest she reawake his temper that had only just begun to calm. Surprisingly, he gave in and nodded, ripping the rubber band out of his hair and handing it to her. There were still a few shredded strands coiled about it in knots.

Observing it for only the briefest of moments, Winry took it and tossed offhandedly it into the garbage can. "Well, to begin with, you shouldn't use rubber bands. They'll damage your hair. Use one of these." She pulled the soft elastic band out of her own hair and held it up for him to see.

"Okay," Ed's face was blank as he shrugged. "You know, it's not like I'll need to know any of this in the future. If I can't even draw a circle without it looking like a mutated egg, how am I supposed to tie my hair back?"

Winry glared at him. "It's not like you're permanently crippled, Ed!" She grabbed his shoulders and turned him around so she could start fingering through the snarls in his hair.

"Oh sure, just five more months of 'therapy,' and I'll be just peachy." He yelped as she yanked on his hair. "What was that for?"

"Stop being so pessimistic!" Winry insisted, pulling his hair through one more loop of the band. "There!" Turning him to the side so he could see himself in the mirror, she showed him the low ponytail. "If you actually _tried_ during your exercises, maybe you'd be able to do your own hair someday."

"What makes you think I'm _not_ trying!" Ed demanded, pulling away from her. "You have to understand. 'Someday' is not going to cut it. I need progress _now_, dammit!"

"Impatience isn't going to get you anywhere." Walking over to the pile of clothes on the bed, she pulled out a black tank top. She balled it up and tossed it to him along with a fresh pair of boxers. "Now come on. Let's get you dressed. You're still covered in mop water."

Ed glanced down at the shirt she had thrown at him. "What's wrong with the shirt I have on? It didn't get wet."

She contemplated laughing, but one look at Ed's expression told her that was a very bad idea. The gray collared shirt was still draped loosely off of his shoulder. Rolling her eyes, she said, "You _haven't_ got it on. You've got only your left arm through the sleeve. The tank top will be easier, for now, until you've got more mobility in your arm. It doesn't have buttons to trip you up, either."

"I thought you said I needed to try harder?" Ed let the sarcastic quip roll off his tongue as he struggled out of the gray shirt.

"One step at a time, Ed," Winry said, heading out of the room so he could have privacy to get dressed. "Don't mistake blindly pushing yourself forward with improvement. One step at a time."

* * *

A couple of months after she had found Edward soaking in a puddle of mop water, Winry had all but forgotten this particular exchange. That is, until Ed burst into her room with a huge grin on his face. Winry, startled, leapt to her feet. She opened her mouth to say something, but paused when Ed turned around excitedly to show her his hair.

Trust Ed to outdo even the most ambitious of results.

Not only was his hair pulled back, it was plaited. Ed had managed to twist his growing, blond hair into a loose but tidy braid. The work was meticulous – it would have required painstaking control by both uncoordinated hands. Winry couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him.

"So, did Al do that for you?" She teased.

"Very funny," Ed grumbled, but he couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from pulling upwards into a smile.


End file.
